


can’t lay the stars at your feet

by cherryvanilla



Series: Yuletide Assignments and Treats [17]
Category: Thunder Road (Song)
Genre: 1950s, F/F, New Jersey, Road Trips, Sexuality, Small Towns, Summer, Teenage Rebellion, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5354597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She meets her at a soda fountain in Avon-by-the-Sea, on the outskirts of Asbury Park. It's her daddy's shop and she works there in the summers. She's recently graduated, supposed to be starting at Jersey City University in the fall. </p><p>"Liberal Arts for now, I suppose," is what she says. Chris gets all of this out of her just by saying the words, "Workin’ here long?" </p><p>She wouldn't even know her name yet if not for the tag on her uniform that says <i>Mary</i> in blue letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can’t lay the stars at your feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redletters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redletters/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this treat, redletters!

She meets her at a soda fountain in Avon-by-the-Sea, on the outskirts of Asbury Park. It's her daddy's shop and she works there in the summers. She's recently graduated, supposed to be starting at Jersey City University in the fall. 

"Liberal Arts for now, I suppose," is what she says. Chris gets all of this out of her just by saying the words, "Workin’ here long?" 

She wouldn't even know her name yet if not for the tag on her uniform that says _Mary_ in blue letters. 

"Liberal Arts is for people who don't know what they're doing with the rest of their life,” Chris replies. 

She says it as simple fact rather than judgement. She's not one to judge, after all; she's a Liberal Arts drop out from her community college back home. Her parents still won't let her live it down. When they’re speaking to her, that is. 

Mary's eyes narrow a little, and it’s the first Chris has seen of anything besides utter politeness and cheer. "I only just turned 18. Am I supposed to have it all figured out?"

"No," Chris replies. "Hey, I'm sorry."

Mary shrugs, moves down the counter to refill someone's coffee. 

Chris is pretty sure she's getting the silent treatment and sips loudly at her milkshake, mentally kicking herself, before Mary comes back down the counter again a few minutes later. 

"What's your name?" she asks. 

Chris straightens from her slouched position, runs a hand through her hair before remembering it’s gelled.

"Chrissie. Most people call me Chris, though."

"That's a boys name," Mary says, nose wrinkled. She's no Jane Russell or anything, but she's alright. Straight dirty blond hair that goes down past her shoulders, a dark speckling of freckles, blue-green eyes. 

"Don't gotta be," Chris replies easily. 

Mary eyes her like she's trying to figure her out. Chris waits for the comments on her clothes or hair. They usually come next. 

But Mary doesn't say anything else. Instead, she wipes her hand on the frilly blue and white apron she's wearing and says, "Chris. I'm Mary, nice to meet you."

Mary's hand is warm in hers and Chris feels the tingle shoot right up her arm when their fingers brush.

She pulls away and looks toward the jukebox. "Now that we're friends, Mary, you got a nickel?"

Mary rolls her eyes but she's smiling. She turns to the register and opens it up before slapping one on the counter. “I hope this doesn't mean you can't pay.” 

Chris grins at her toothily, hopping off the stool. "Nah, I can. But I've only got dollars."

Mary gapes at her a little and Chris knows she's watching as she walks toward the music. 

She starts up Every Day by Buddy Holly and walks back to her seat.

“This is a good song,” Mary murmurs. 

"Yeah."

When Chris finishes her shake and pays Mary says, “Don’t be a stranger.”

So she comes back the next day.

"Why have I never seen you around here before?" Mary asks, pushing a coffee cup at Chris.

"Just passing through. Been traveling this summer."

"That sounds great. Where are you from?"

"California."

Mary looks at her with wide, happy eyes. "Oh wow, I've always wanted to see the Pacific coast."

So Chris tells her about California and driving across country in her ‘32 Ford that’s been with her through thick and thin. “My pa and I fixed ‘er up together. Got a 318 engine, fuelie heads, the works.”

Mary listens aptly, even though her eyes glaze over a little at the details. 

"You're not in school then?"

"Nope," Chris says.

Mary nods, thoughtful. "Hey, how old are you anyway?"

"20."

Mary smiles and ducks her head. "Cool. Well. I hope you can stick around some."

Chris hadn’t planned on staying beyond tomorrow. But she thinks her plans just changed.

Of course, staying longer means more motel time which means Chris has gotta find some more extra cash.

She heads the two or so miles into Asbury Park, finds a pool hole and hustles her way to 50 more dollars. The money feels good in her pocket and as she's pulling out of the parking lot she finds herself wondering what Mary's doing right now. She’d buy her a burger or something, despite where this money is supposed to go.

The next day when Chris heads into the soda fountain there's a man behind the counter. Older, stern faced. He looks at Chris the way most people look at Chris. 

“Can I help you?” he asks, in a tone that says he'd rather be doing anything else.

"Um, coffee, black, please," she says, just barely holding in, "Where's Mary?"

She's pretty sure she knows who this guy is, anyway.

He levels Chris with looks to the point that her defenses go up pretty quick. When Mary finally pops out of the kitchen, bright smile on her face at seeing Chris, her hackles are already up. 

"Hey," Mary says warmly. "Daddy, this is Chris. She's passing through this summer.”

Her dad makes a noncommittal noise. "Nice to meet you, sir," Chris replies, because she was raised that way. 

He ignores her offered hand, eyes firmly fixed on her arm instead. 

"Girls don't wear leather jackets," he sniffs.

Never fails. Except, well, with Mary. 

Chris has to hold in an eyeroll. "Well I don't see why they shouldn't. If boys can."

"Fancy yourself a boy then?" he asks, eyes now on her short, gelled hair.

"Daddy!" Mary admonishes.

Chris' hand clenches into a fist below the counter. “No sir, I know what I am,” she replies, voice defiant.

She hopes he can read between the lines.

Chris is pretty sure Mary’s going to get told tonight that she needs to, “stay away from that girl.” Chris hopes she won’t listen. 

He levels her a stare and then walks back into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry about that," Mary whispers, leaning close and taking Chris' hand in hers, squeezing quickly. 

Chris blinks, licks her lips. "What do you do around here for fun?"

Mary chews on her bottom lip and Chris has to fight back a groan. "Well, I love heading to the beach.”

Chris hums. "I haven't seen the Atlantic yet. You wanna show me tonight?"

She looks back in the direction of the kitchen, pulls back her hand.

Chris waits for the disappointment to come but Mary surprises her, saying, "Meet me in front of the store at 9:00.”

“Alright.” 

______________________________________

She picks Mary up in her car. She’s wearing a pretty flowered dress and sandals, her hair long and flowing. She has no business being in Chris’ car. 

“This is nice,” Mary says, smiling as she gets in. Her face looks tight though. 

“Is this okay?” Chris asks. 

Mary doesn’t meet her eyes, nods distractedly. “I had to tell them I was out with my friend Sally. He, um. Dad didn’t want me seeing you.” 

Chris scoffs. It’s nothing she didn’t expect. 

“So why are you here?” she asks, voice a little hard, unable to help it. She tries not to give a fuck what people think, but she’s also not made of stone, as much as she wished that were true sometimes. 

“Because I want to be,” Mary says quietly. 

Chris nods, stomach loosening. She turns the radio up, Dion playing and telling guys to keep away from Runaround Sue. 

Chris thinks Sue always sounded pretty cool. 

“You’re staying in town, then?” Mary asks as they drive, after Mary tells her which way to get to the Asbury Park beach. 

“Yeah. Motel.” 

“Your parents must be well off -- for you to be able to take this trip.” 

Chris doesn’t tell her her parents haven’t really cared all that much what she does since they caught her with a girl named Jessica who tasted like apples. 

“Nah, I’m funding this trip with my superior skills.” 

“Skills?” Mary asks, and she can feel curious eyes on her. 

“I shoot a mean pool cue.” 

Mary’s silent for a minute and Chris sneaks a glance at her, sees her staring down at her hands. She tries not to look at her bare legs. 

“You’re a hustler?” 

Chris shrugs, ignoring the judgement in her voice. 

“Chris, that’s dangerous!” 

“I’m careful. Plus I wear loose shirts, sometimes they think I’m a guy and I don’t correct them if it helps their fragile male egos.” 

Mary laughs, shaking her head. “Just. Be careful.” 

She sounds like she really cares, like if something happened to Chris it would affect her, even though they’ve only known each other for two days. 

It feels like it’s been longer, honestly. 

“You mind if I smoke?” she asks. 

Mary shrugs. 

Chris fumbles in her jacket for her cigarettes and lighter. 

She hears Mary huff beside her once she has them out and is trying to balance lighting up while also holding the wheel. 

“Here, just.” 

She takes them from her, then reaches over, fitting the cigarette between Chris’ lips. 

Chris inhales sharply before it’s even lit, Mary’s fingers brushing her lips. 

Mary lights it and Chris tries to focus on the road. 

“Thanks,” she says when she’s taken a drag. 

“Sure,” Mary says quietly. 

“You got a boyfriend?” Chris asks when they’ve been quiet for too long and she’s starting to feel itchy, just the sound of the radio keeping them company. 

“No,” Mary says. “I um, did. Billy. He was a jerk.”

“Most of them are,” Chris mutters to herself. 

Mary doesn’t ask if she has a boyfriend. Chris isn’t sure if she’s glad or disappointed. 

She wonders if Mary -- gets any of this at all. She feels like she might. 

Mary starts talking about the last time she was at the beach and how much she loves the boardwalk. “We should go, it’s nice.” 

“Not tonight, huh?” Chris says. She kind of just -- wants to be off somewhere, in the middle of nowhere. Not dealing with people. 

Mary seems to understand, takes them to a secluded area of the beach. She parks in a small lot and they walk down toward the water. As soon as they hit the dunes Mary takes off running, laughing down the hill. Chris watches her kick off her sandals halfway down and then she’s bouncing down near the water’s edge, the only light coming off the moon and the one or two street lights near the place she parked. 

“Come on!” Mary calls. 

She’s something else, standing there in her bare feet, spinning in a circle with her arms out. 

Chris moves down the dunes, sand getting in her sneakers, eyes narrowed on the sight of Mary, an aching in her gut. She rushes up to her, doesn’t stop until she’s right in her space, too close. 

Mary’s laughing still, her freckles shining beneath the moon. Chris can’t help it, can’t think of anything else but the need to cup her jaw, to brush her thumbs over the smooth skin of Mary’s cheeks. 

She leans in, slowly, and when their lips touch she can feel the moment when Mary stops smiling and her lips go slack. 

She doesn’t kiss back, and Chris presses their mouths together gently, just a brushing of lips, until Mary pulls back a little, gasping. “We can’t.” 

_We can’t_ is better than _what are you doing_ , she supposes. Mary doesn’t seem surprised by the fact that the kiss is actually happening. 

“Who says?” Chris whispers, pulling back to look into her eyes, still cupping Mary’s face. 

“Everyone.” 

Chris closes her eyes. She’s met girls like Mary, who think no and can’t and wrong. But she’s also met girls who don’t give a fuck. California is better for that than some small town in Jersey that holds about 2,000 people, despite the proximity to Asbury Park. And either way, there’s going to be people who think this is wrong anywhere she goes, despite where they are. 

“Forget can’t. What do you want?” 

Mary’s bottom lip trembles and her cheeks feel warm beneath Chris’ hold. 

“We shouldn't....”

Chris sighs. 

“Not... here,” Mary continues. 

Chris opens her eyes, swallows hard. “My car?”

Mary hesitates and then nods. They walk back up to the car and then drive down the long winding road that leads to the beach, parking on the side of it. Chris kills the engine and lights and then it's only darkness.

The energy in the air feels electric. Mary asks for the radio, so Chris turns on the ignition just enough to get it playing.

Peggy Sue plays as Chris leans in, watches Mary’s eyes drift shut, listens to the soft moan she makes as their mouths meet. 

Chris kisses her slow, deep, gentle. Mary gasps against her every time their tongues brush. Chris has one hand tangled in Mary’s hair and her other is on her own thigh, clenched in a fist and trying hard not to make any other movements. Mary touches her cheek, drags her fingers down her throat, making all of Chris’ nerves sing. 

By the time Chris gets her mouth on Mary’s neck, licking at her skin, pressing her lips to her pulse again and again, Mary is trembling, soft sounds falling from her lips. 

They neck forever. They don’t touch anywhere else, despite how badly Chris wants to get her hand on Mary’s breasts, slide a hand up beneath her dress, see if this is affecting her the way it’s affecting Chris. 

By the time Mary pushes her away the windows are fogged up and Chris is so wet she’s thrumming with it. 

She wants so much more, wants to never stop. 

“I have curfew,” Mary whispers with regret. 

“Oh,” Chris replies, voice thick. “Okay, yeah,” she says, dragging a hand through her hair. “I’ll take you home.” 

She drops Mary off just up the block from her house, as per her request. She leans over, throwing her arms around Chris in a tight hug. Chris can smell the floral perfume she’s wearing, like rose petals. 

She pulls back, says, “Don’t leave yet, okay?” 

Mary’s eyes are big and wide, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

Chris is helpless against anything else she might want to say, anything she _should_ say. 

“Okay.” 

______________________________

She stays. They avoid Mary’s dad. They go to the boardwalk and eat ice cream and go on the rides. Chris shows her the pool hole even though she probably shouldn’t. Mary takes the whole thing pretty well. And, well, she wears her baggiest shirt possible and deepens her voice and maybe, just maybe, she’s glad when these guys think Chris is short for Christopher instead. It means she can whoop and grab Mary when she wins, planting a big kiss on her. 

She stays and they go to her motel room. Mary shakes when Chris presses her to the mattress, and gasps and moans the first time Chris’ hands wander down to her chest. 

“You ever do this before?” Chris whispers, even though she’s pretty sure she knows the answer. 

“Just kissing,” she says. “Some -- touching.” 

Chris bends her mouth, pushes her dress lower, gets her mouth on her breast, pulling her nipple between her teeth. 

Mary gasps and runs her fingers through Chris’ hair, messing up the gel. 

“Is this better than that?” she whispers, rubbing her lips against the hardened nub, groaning. 

“Yes,” Mary says like a prayer. “Yes, yes.” 

Chris goes lower. 

Mary doesn’t stop saying her name, like a mantra. 

Chris has never seen or heard anything more beautiful her life, and when Mary climaxes it’s like Chris’ heart does as well. 

______________________________

It’s three weeks in, the beginning of August, when it all goes to hell. 

Chris should’ve known it would. After all, she’s overstayed her welcome by about 18 days. 

Mary’s apparently been going out too much and the excuses are becoming flimsier. Her dad follows them, catches them in the parking lot of the motel. 

“Are you crazy?” he says to her, grabbing her hand and forcing her out of the car. “You’re coming home.” 

“Dad, I’m not a child. You can’t just--”

“You live under my roof, you’ll do what I say.” 

“Mr. Donnelly, if you’d just --”

He whirls around on her, points a finger in her face. “Don’t. You -- just stay away from my daughter. I’m serious.” 

Mary looks back at her with hurt, sad eyes. 

Chris punches her fist into the side of her car and doesn’t even feel the pain that’s surely there.

She chain smokes, she looks at the phone, she thinks about calling Mary up. 

She doesn’t.  
_______________________________

It’s two days of sleeping and eating vending machine food and smoking like a chimney before she takes action. She thinks of Mary, probably grounded, sitting in her room with her sheets over her head like a cocoon. 

She thinks about Liberal Arts and no set plan and this small fucking town with this bright girl in it. 

She drives. 

She parks the car down the street, walks up to Mary’s house around back. It’s late. 

She throws a rock at the window.

Mary appears, in a white nightgown that Chris has never seen before. 

She opens her window. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Come with me,” she says, stubbing out her cigarette. 

“What?” 

“I’m leaving town and I want you to come with me.” 

Mary huffs out a laugh, but she doesn’t look amused. She looks shocked, scared, nervous. “I -- what are you talking about?” 

“Just what I said. You and me, let’s -- let’s just go.” 

“Chris, I--” 

“Don’t say you can’t,” Chris says, pleadingly, voice unsteady. “Just -- do what you want to do.” 

“I-- I want to go back to sleep.” 

Chris’ eyes close, pain sharp in her chest. She opens them slowly, looks back up. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll stop here before I go. At 9 o’clock. If you’re not here, I’ll --” 

“Goodbye, Chris,” Mary says softly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll be here, 9 o’clock!” she yells as Mary shuts the window. 

“I think I love you,” she whispers to the night. 

_________________________________

She pulls up in front of Mary’s house. It’s a risk. There are windows in front, but the house seems mostly dark. Chris can hear some music playing and she notices a record player on the porch. It’s a sad song; she thinks it will probably be apropos. 

She looks at the clock. 9:02. She’s got the engine running but she’s gonna need to shut it down soon or get moving. 

Just then she hears a noise. She looks up as the screen door slams and there’s Mary. In a perfect yellow summer dress. It sways as she turns around, bends down, picks something up. 

It looks like -- a suitcase. 

Chris’ heart leaps in her chest. She leans over the seat, out the open window.

Mary meets her eyes. She looks back at the house, at her hands, at Chris. 

“Please,” Chris whispers. She has no idea if Mary reads her lips or not, but she nods. She doesn’t run inside; she runs toward Chris. 

“Go,” Mary says as she enters, sounding out of breath and throwing her suitcase in the backseat. “Just -- go.” 

Chris laughs nervously and puts the gear shift into drive. She hates that she can’t hold Mary’s hand with a manual transmission, but Mary must realize because she puts her hand on top of Chris’ and they maneuver the gears together, hands intwined. 

“I’ll send them a postcard,” Mary says. “I-- I left a note. And I’ve got some money saved up from the store. I brought it.” 

“Okay,” Chris says, feeling terrified and excited all at once. 

“Where are we going?” Mary says, after a few minutes of silence. 

Chris looks at her, grinning. “California sound good to you, baby?” 

Mary laughs, a giddy rush of sound. She leans back in her seat, exhales. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.” 

End.


End file.
